


Simmering

by Nemainofthewater



Series: dragon!Jaskier [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Gen, Geralt is oblivious, M/M, Yennefer has the braincell, but willingly so, dragon!Jaskier, part of my dragon!jaskier verse, pre and post Rare Species
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22588222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: Five times Geralt was suspicious of Jaskier, and one time he was terrified for him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: dragon!Jaskier [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623493
Comments: 100
Kudos: 2498
Collections: Fan Fiction Addiction, Math





	Simmering

**Author's Note:**

> A series of moments set before, around, ~~and after~~ the events of Shining. You don't really have to have read the previous story to understand this, but it'll help.  
> (Though considering this is the Witcher TV fandom, we might just all be used to being confused by timelines)

1.

He smells the boy before he sees him. He smells like wildflowers and sweetly scented rose oil and chamomile and, underneath it all, there’s a thin thread of brimstone. He’s also singing a song with deeply regrettable lyrics and Geralt rolls his eyes and writes him off as another soft son of a noble family, out slumming it for the day.

When he bounds up to his table, Geralt sighs and resigns himself to indulging the youth’s false bravado and trying not to punch the idiot. And there is bravado, but the difference is- the difference is that he isn’t scared. Humans, no matter how hard they pretend, look at him with fear. It reeks from them, sour and bitter at the base of his throat as they tense at any sudden movement.

This- bard, in his stupidly impractical silks and his young face and his poorly thought out songs of imaginary monsters and backstreet abortions… he’s got bread stuffed into his pants. That’s really all that can be said about it. So instead of punching the idiot in the face, Geralt merely stands and leaves.

(He forgets about the strange scent).

2.

Roach doesn’t like him, whinnying nervously as he approaches and ignoring the bard’s pouts and his bribes of sweet apples.

Geralt narrows his eyes. Roach is a good judge of character. He briefly touches his medallion, but it stays still and cool under his hand. Then Jaskier dodges backward to avoid a particularly vicious bite, catches his foot on a rock and falls backward, hands flailing wildly.

“Geralt, help-!”

Hmm.

He stares at Roach as she placidly munches on apple the bard dropped during his undignified descent. Perhaps she’s just as ill-tempered as her master.

3.  
  


“He shouldn’t have recovered that easily,” Yennefer says, later, once they’ve found each other again. They’re lying in a bed, for once, lightly panting and deliciously sated.

“What?”

“Your bard. Jaskier. He shouldn’t have recovered so easily after the djinn.”

“Hmm.” Geralt rolled over to stare at Yennefer, at her dark eyes and her silken skin. “Jaskier isn’t who I want to be talking about,” he says. Jaskier does not belong in this room. Not when the air is heavy with musk and sweat and he can still feel the shape of Yennefer’s body beneath his hands. He blinks away a vision of paler skin and blue eyes and breathless laughter, pushes it down.

“How long have you known him, Geralt? A decade? More? You haven’t noticed he hasn’t aged but I have-”

Geralt surges forward and cuts her off with a kiss.

“I said,” he growls, “That I don’t want to talk about Jaskier.”

(Later, Yennefer walks into camp and narrows her eyes at Jaskier.

“Jaskier,” she says, but she’s staring pointedly at Geralt. “The crow’s feet are new.”)

4.

Geralt stares down at his bard.

He’s curled around his lute, as close to the meagre remains of the fire as possible. Eyes closed and face in peaceful repose, he looks no different from that day they met in Posada. One of his arms is flung out to the side, and his hand has landed directly in the ashes and soot.

Geralt’s hand twitches for his medallion, but he stops. Their fire hadn’t been particularly impressive the night before: no doubt it had burnt itself out quickly enough, allowing the idiot bard to avoid burning himself despite his unfortunate sleeping habits. Decided, he bends down and shakes Jaskier awake.

“Get up,” he says, ignoring the offended splutters and the pitiful requests for ‘one more hour, you brute’. “It’s time to go.”

He stands and goes to pack up the camp. And if in future he places himself between Jaskier and the fire… well, that’s no man’s business but his own.

5.

He finds the stone two months after the dragon hunt, digging through Roach’s saddlebag for one of his rapidly diminishing stock of healing potions. He’s been keeping himself busy, throwing himself into contract after contract. Reminding himself that his duty is to follow the Path, and the Path has no time for _indulgences_.

(It’s been quiet. He forces himself not to notice).

His hand brushes against the red stone and his hand explodes in pain, burning bright and pure. Brimstone fills his nose and throat and he chokes, throwing himself backwards and away from Roach.

As soon as his hand loses contact with the stone the pain abates, and he can breathe easily.

“What the fuck.”

Scowling, he grabs the saddlebag and, careful not to break or touch anything, overturns it. Potions and provisions (and a notebook filled with familiar handwriting) spill out, but he’s only concerned with the red stone.

“Hmm.”

He draws a silver dagger and, ready to pull away at any moment, pokes it. It twinkles innocently up at him.

“What are you? And where the fuck did you come from?”

He crouches down and studies it. It must be magical, but he can’t tell what it is. He draws a deep breath, and then freezes. Because there’s the faintest hint of _Jaskier_ in the air. Hesitantly, he reaches out again with his bare hand and picks it up. It doesn’t burn him again; no, it’s warm and comforting to his touch. And he recognises it now. The stone that Jaskier carts- carted- around with him in his lute case. The one that he uses to weigh down his papers when he writes his songs, that he grips tightly at night after a long day. The one thing, he’d confided in Geralt, that he had left of his parents. And it was here. Why was it here.

Geralt swallows his regret and tucks the stone into one of the pouches on his belt.

+1.

“Yennefer!”

Geralt bursts through doors of Yennefer’s shop, sending the bell clattering. Yennefer, sat at a table and paging through a tome doesn’t even look up. Her eye roll is unmistakable, however.

“I thought I made myself clear,” she said. “I never want to see you again.”

“Fuck that,” Geralt snarls and slams the red rock on the table in front of her. “I need your help. I- I’m not here for me.”

Slowly, achingly slowly, Yennefer closes her book and places it to the side, carefully marking her place. “That’s the worst apology I’ve ever heard,” she says.

“It’s not an apology.”

“Of course it isn’t. And you think I’ll help you because-?”

“Because Jaskier has been kidnapped by a dragon.” He had only found out the night before. The tale of the Bard and the Dragon was very popular, according to the bard he had cornered outside the inn, but Geralt had been avoiding civilisation and hadn’t heard it. Not until it was months too late to do anything about it. A great golden beast sweeping out from the sky and snatching a bard up- and not just any bard but the great Jaskier!- was a noteworthy occurrence. Jaskier would have hated it.

“The bard-” he had lectured an uncaring Geralt, “-must not be the subject of a song. We’re impartial observers, Geralt! We’re not meant interact with history, we’re meant to record it! And yes, I hear you say-”

“-I didn’t.”

“-I did include myself in some of my earlier works. A tragic mistake of youth. Now though- this is the sort of thing that gets you stripped of your title Geralt!”

“Hmm.”

“I don’t have time to defend myself against a jury of my peers!”

And on and on.

“A dragon?” Yennefer says, eyes lighting in interest even as she feigned nonchalance. “That might be worth a look.” She picked up the stone, and then recoiled, wincing.

“Why the hell did you give me this?” she demands. There was a bright mark on the palm of her hand, red and sore and fading before his eyes.

“It’s Jaskier’s,” he replies, shortly. “I thought you could track him from it.”

“Jaskier’s?” Yennefer’s tone sharpened. “Well, well. It looks like your bard is more interesting than I thought.” She leans back. “I’ll see what I can do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Belated thank you to Saj_te_Gyuhuall with whom I've had a lovely discussion in the comments of Shining about bards and their responsibility to history (alongside many other cool things!)
> 
> EDIT: 19/02/2020- Shining has finally caught up timeline wise, and this story now doesn't take place _after_ it, though the second to last and last sections do run concurrently with a large part of the main story.


End file.
